


For Want of a Cat

by pherryt, sydkn3e



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean and Cats, First Kiss, Halloween, Haunted Houses, M/M, Writer Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydkn3e/pseuds/sydkn3e
Summary: Dean isn't happy about cat-sitting for his best friend Charlie, mostly because cats are evil and are plotting against him. His suspicions are confirmed when Spock escapes and leads him into the creepiest house in the neighborhood, except instead of finding the expected ghost, Dean finds Castiel.Maybe cats aren't so bad, after all.





	For Want of a Cat

  


Charlie was a busy computer programmer with little to no free time outside of her work. Her one escape was the yearly Moondoor larping, a week-long event in the neighboring city. Charlie went full nerd for the entire week, buying completely into the fantasy world so wholly that she actually stayed in her “Queen” tent for the entirety of the week. She even slept in Medieval garb, for Chrissake. Dean was sure she probably even had a bedmaiden to place a pan of warm coals at her feet. No less than the best for the Queen of Moondoor.

Which is how Dean got stuck with Spock, the black ball of sneeze-inducing fur and dander that was Charlie's cat.

Dean blew his nose loudly into a tissue, his nose red with irritation and his eyes puffy and watery.

Damn cat.

Spock sat his happy ass right in the middle of Dean's couch, which is where he delightfully curled up when he wasn't insisting on laying directly on Dean's lap.

The doorbell rang just as Dean sneezed again. He wiped his tender nose, grumbling to himself as he grabbed the candy bowl and made his way to the door.

“TRICK OR TREAT!” Voices shouted the obligatory phrase, holding out their bags already chock full of various sweets.

“Hey...Wonder Woman!” Dean exclaimed, dropping a few miniature candy bars into the girl's bag. “She's awesome!” He turned to the other kid, a boy who looked to be about 11 or 12, his face caked with Pennywise makeup.

“You kids may wanna avoid that creepy old house down the street...” he gave them a sly wink, “I think it's abandoned, but some sketchy things have been known to happen around there...”

The Pennywise kid didn't laugh. “Whatever, dude. Can I get my candy now?”

 

Dean deadpanned, grumbling incoherently as he haphazardly tossed candy into his bag as well. The kids turned and began walking back down the sidewalk as Dean glared after them from the doorway, his lips pursed. Suddenly, he felt something warm brush up against his leg, and by the time he looked down he saw a flash of black fur as Spock dashed out of the door and into the cool October night, taking off up the street in the opposite direction of the Trick or Treaters.

 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean tossed the bowl of candy onto the couch and stepped out into the night, pulling the door closed behind him. He took off down the street in the direction of the old creepy house, his boots thudding loudly against the pavement. He had to stop just short of the dark house to catch his breath, doubled over with his hands on his knees as he panted dramatically. He looked up just in time to see the damn cat disappear into the open door of the house that Dean was sure had been closed earlier that day.

Fuck.

He hesitated at the wrought-iron gate at the front of the dilapidated property, taking in the crooked shutters, unmowed grass, crumbling sidewalk, and chipped paint on the front door. He'd never seen so much as a car in or out of the property, much less any sign of human life. Every once in awhile he thought he heard music playing from inside the house, creepy melodic classical tunes, but it was just as likely to have been his imagination.

In short, the house was creepy as fuck, and there was no way Dean Winchester was going inside. None. Uh uh.

But then Dean imagined the look Charlie's face when he would tell her about losing her stupid cat, the only thing she's ever asked of him in their 8 years of friendship.

 _Fuckfuckfuck_.

The sidewalk seemed to stretch forever as Dean made his way to the open door, the house even less inviting up close as it had been from the road. His whole body was tense, his ears straining for any sounds or signs of the stupid cat. He had hoped the damn thing would just come back out on its own, maybe spooked by something inside the house. It would serve him right anyway, making Dean Winchester feel like a pansy like this, but he had no such luck. By the time he reached the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch, Spock still hadn't emerged from the dark abyss of the inside of the home.

Dean rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath and clenching his jaw before marching up the steps. His first step on the partially rotted wood of the porch had him feeling uneasy, the board bowing somewhat pliantly under his foot and splintering under his weight. By some miracle, he made it across the decayed wood and to the door. He took a deep breath, raising his shoulders dramatically, and pushed the chipped-paint door hesitantly with one finger, peering wide-eyed into the house, his eyebrows reaching toward his hairline. The door creaked loudly from Dean's first touch to the time it bumped gently against the back wall. Dean begrudgingly took a step inside.

The house smelled stale and the cool October weather had given the house an eerie bone chill, much colder than it realistically should have been. Dean let out a puff of air, his breath coming out in a cloud in front of him. He was too distracted to remark on how odd that was. He stopped just inside the door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark inside the home, and wrapped his arms tightly around his midsection to fend off the cold.

“Hello?”

The emptiness didn't quite echo, but his voice felt small in the empty space. No answer came. He heard faint scuffling to his right, and he opened his eyes as wide as he could, straining to see.

He stood in a foyer, about six feet across, which turned into a hallway that extended to what looked like the far end of the house, under the stairs. The stairway began slightly to his left, another few feet from the door, and led up to a dark upper floor that Dean decided he was not going to investigate. He told himself it was because the stairs looked less than reliable.

Stepping to the source of the noise, off to the right, was a sitting area of sorts, through french doors that only had a few glass panes remaining. Moonlight coming through the window cast light on a shabby wooden coffee table and some dry-rotted furniture. There were books and loose paper scattered throughout the foyer and leading into the sitting room. Dean saw that most of them were littered with messy scrawl, and he picked one up to inspect it closer. It appeared to be a page of a novel, only pieces of it legible. Dean positioned himself so that the moonlight shone across the page, squinting at the words:

_“...and he was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen, with broad shoulders and muscles that moved gracefully under the heat of the sun and the sheen of sweat. When I'm lucky enough to catch any hint of a smile, my world stops, it comes to a crashing halt, and all beauty around me dulls in comparison. One day I'll get the courage to say hello, and on that day I may give my heart away for good...”_

Dean frowned at the page before dropping it to the floor. Whoever wrote it was obviously talented, the words inexplicably weighing heavily on his heart as he scanned the dark room once more for the stupid cat. As he made his way to the other end of the room, he saw a sliver of light through the other room, which appeared to be a kitchen. Just as the doorway came into view, he saw a flash of black go darting through it and into another room, making his heart beat out of his chest.

Stupid fucking cat.

He discovered as he stepped inside that the light wasn't coming from the kitchen, but rather the room around the corner, and he stepped over broken checkerboard tiles and around a rustic and worn farm table to find the source of the light.

When he turned the corner, the light seemed to brighten, too bright at first, and music flooded his ears. It was classical music, a soft piano rift, and while it wasn't very loud, he vaguely realized that he definitely should have heard it before actually entering the room. Simultaneously, part of his brain told him that the music had indeed been playing the whole time, and suddenly, it didn't strike him as odd. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the sudden light, and nearly jumped out of his skin at what he saw.

There, sitting at a small writing desk in the far corner, was a man. He had his back to Dean and he was hunched over the desk, his head cocked precariously to the side as he wrote furiously. Spock sat atop a clunky computer monitor, one of the older models, watching the man intently, barely registering that Dean had entered the room.

Dean stepped forward hesitantly, his feet shuffling almost silently along the paper-ridden hardwood. Either the man hadn't heard him, or he was too engrossed in his writing to notice. Dean cleared his throat, but the man's writing didn't cease, the muscles in his back rippling under his shirt as his hand flew over the paper.

Dean was mere steps from the man when he finally found his voice.

“Hello?”

The cat looked over at him, clearly bored, but the man didn't turn to acknowledge him. Instead, he let out a disgusted noise and furiously crumpled the piece of paper he'd been working on, tossing it angrily to the floor before starting on a fresh new piece.

Dean cleared his throat again, speaking a little louder this time. “Hey.”

Still nothing. Spock turned his attention back to the man once more, peering down at him from the monitor.

Dean took a deep breath and let it out, the music building to a loud crescendo as he finally stepped forward and placed a shaking hand on the man's shoulder.

“Hey, buddy...”

The man jumped dramatically and turned in his chair, and suddenly, he was looking up at Dean with wide eyes...the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. His dark hair was sticking up all over his head and he had what had to have been at least a week's worth of stubble on his jaw in contrast to full, dusty pink lips. He had dark circles under his eyes and a dull pencil tucked behind his ear. His initial surprise faded quickly, and he narrowed his eyes at Dean and cocked his head to the side.

Dean swallowed hard, also cocking his head. “Hey, listen, I'm sorry to have barged in on you like this.” He gestured to Spock, but the man didn't seem interested. “That's my...well, it's my friend's...stupid cat, and he got out and... you know, ended up here. I was just coming to get him. I didn't know anyone lived here.” He realized he was rambling, and the man was still just looking at him curiously.

Dean dropped his hands to his sides with a _slap_ , and immediately began wondering if the guy was deaf. He hadn't so much as acknowledged anything Dean had said so far, and was still just staring at him, almost in awe. It gave Dean goosebumps, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself.

“So, uh, I'm just gonna...take the cat, and I'll be going...”

“You.”

The man's voice was impossibly deep and gutteral, gravely but somehow beautiful, and another shiver ran up Dean's spine.

“Uhh, sure. Look, man...”

Then the guy stood up and he was much taller and broader than he looked in the rickety chair, the buttons of his shirt pulling precariously across his chest. Dean's throat went dry. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, an action the man didn't miss, his beautiful blues following the movement before drifting back up to meet Dean's eyes.

The man stepped closer, holding out a hand to Dean's face. Dean wanted to drop back, even smack the guy's hand away, but he was frozen in place. His breath caught and eyes went wide as the man caressed his cheek gently, skimming a thumb along the stubble on his jaw and over the curve of his lips. Finally, he pulled his hand away, his frown deepening.

“No. No...” He turned around and pulled a sheet of paper from under one of the stacks on his desk, holding it under the lamp and close to his face, studying it. He looked back up at Dean, chewing on his lip. “No. It isn't right...”

Dean watched, confused, as the man pulled the pencil from behind his ear and furiously scribbled out some of the text, replacing it with more messy scrawl.

“Buddy, what, uh...”

When the man turned back to him, Dean again lost his ability to form words. Finally, after a long moment, the man smiled. He looked almost ethereal with the lamp shining behind him. It was like looking at the sun.

“I'm Castiel,” he said, holding out a hand. Dean took it without thinking, the man's skin soft, his touch much lighter than expected, causing the hair to stand on Dean's arms and the back of his neck. He found himself not wanting to let go, even when the man pulled away. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Castiel waved a hand, dismissing him. “I know who you are, Dean.”

Dean's mouth snapped shut and he narrowed his eyes at him in question. “How?”

“Well, I've seen you. I've watched you.” Castiel shrugged and gave a dry laugh. “I've...researched you, I guess you could say.”

“Dude...that's creepy.”

“I suppose it is. My apologies. I can assure you that it was necessary.”

“Necessary to what?”

“Accuracy. Attention to the tiniest detail.” He pinched his fingers together in demonstration, his deep voice raising an octave at the word 'tiniest'.

“What do you-“

“Dean, do you believe in agape?”

“Uhh…”

Castiel smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He licked his lips quickly, breathing in through his nose before he continued, talking with his hands as he walked in a sort of semi-circle, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

“Agape is a Greek term. It’s one of eight different types of love known to the Greeks, with the simplest form being eros, or erotic love.” He stopped to look up at Dean, who watched him curiously. “Infatuation, if you will.”

Dean just stared at him.

Castiel stopped and looked back at him. “Oh, come now, Dean. You’re not stupid; don’t act it.”

“Okay, yeah, I think I remember reading something about it once.”

Castiel nodded and continues to walk again, looking down as he gestured wildly with his hands, seemingly on the verge of some sort of breakthrough. “Good! So it stands to reason, then, that these types of love the Greeks highlight begins with a love that is possibly formed without actually making any sort of physical contact with this person, correct?”

“Yeah, sure. I guess.”

“You see an attractive being across the room and you want to fornicate with them.”

“Not the way I’d word it, but okay.”

“So eros is achieved simply by acknowledging your physical, sexual attraction to someone.”

“Buddy, are you making some sort of point soon, or…?”

Castiel smiled and held up a finger. “So! It can be argued that all the different Greek definitions of love can actually be applied to people who have never developed an established relationship of any kind. You can, technically, feel all of these types of love for a person, without them ever knowing you exist. Which leads me to agape.”

Dean nodded. “Selfless love. But…that’s not even possible, is it? I mean…in Christian lore, supposedly the only person capable of agape is…God.”

Castiel snapped his fingers and pointed at Dean, his eyes twinkling. “Exactly! Within _Christian_ lore. So then, do you think it is possible for humanity to feel agape, or is it only possible for agape to exist in the event of God’s relationship with man?”

Dean stood there with his mouth hanging open, holding his hands out in question. “I…don’t know…”

“Allow me to rephrase.” Castiel finally stopped moving and folded his hands together with his index fingers up, holding them up to his chin.

Dean was enamored with his passion for…whatever this was, and the guy definitely wasn’t hard on the eyes. Honestly, Dean had achieved eros the second Castiel’s blue eyes met his.

“So imagine you take the concept of Christianity away from the meaning of agape. We’re left with a spiritual love, or the ability to love another without expectation or judgement. So I suppose my question for you is: is it possible for a human being who does not believe in…divine being,” he waved his hand around his head dramatically, rolling his eyes, “to achieve agape?”

Dean blew out a puff of air, his cheeks expanding and deflating. “Wow, uh…I mean, that’s pretty heavy stuff, right?”

Castiel stared at him expectantly.

“I’m not sure it’s possible to love another person without expecting anything in return. You know? I mean…to love someone completely, despite all their flaws, and that person not even love you back? They may as well not even know about it.”

Castiel’s face is sincere, his jaw clenched, and his beautiful eyes are practically boring holes into Dean’s. He doesn’t exactly look angry, but it’s intense, and it sends a chill to Dean’s core. It’s strange how he can be so terrifying and attractive at the same time.

Finally Castiel breaks, a small smile creeping across his features. He turned to his desk and scribbled down a few more things before slapping the pencil down on the desk and turning back to Dean.

“Yes, well. I suppose the idea of agape is somewhat…superfluous. Can I ask you something else, Dean?”

 _I just want to get this goddamn cat and get the hell out of here._ “Sure.”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Dean met Castiel’s gaze, his eyes flitting back and forth over his stony features.

 _I didn’t before today._ “No. Yes. I- I don’t know.”

“Well, which is it? Yes or no?” Castiel smiled again, warmer this time, and stepped closer.

“Yes.” _What the actual fuck, Dean._

Castiel cocked his head to the side. “Interesting.” He walked over to the other side of the room and looked out the window, clenching and unclenching his hand at his side. For a split second, he looked almost translucent, a light from outside giving him the same ethereal glow as the lamp had earlier.

Dean arched an eyebrow after him. “What about you?”

Castiel didn't say anything for a long moment, the muscles in his back tensed. Finally he turned, squinting at Dean, his tongue in his cheek.

“I did.”

“You...did?”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Castiel's mouth. He nodded absentmindedly and took a few steps back toward Dean, stopping a little closer to him than necessary. Dean sucked in a breath, his green eyes cast down slightly into Castiel's blue ones. Castiel looked like he was studying Dean's face, his eyes wandering from Dean's eyes to his cheeks, the curve of his jaw, and finally his lips. Dean watched him, mesmerized, something like an invisible current pulling him to the mysterious man and he slowly leaned in closer, until they were breathing the same air, their noses practically touching.

It wasn't so much a decision to kiss him as it was a reflex, a logical outcome. Dean pressed his lips to Castiel's and it was as if Castiel expected it to happen, like he was waiting for it. Their eyes slid closed and Castiel's full lips were soft and pliant as they locked with Dean's. The kiss was gentle, almost innocent, their lips sticking slightly as Castiel pulled away. He hovered for a moment, only mere centimeters from Dean's face before pulling back a few more inches to look back up into Dean's eyes. All trace of humor or mocking was gone, Castiel's intense gaze was back, but changed...almost in awe. He tilted his head slightly to the side again before giving him another sideways smile, less intimidating than the others, his white and straight teeth showing slightly.

Dean just wanted to kiss him again.

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel nodded sincerely, his eyes never wavering.

It was a weird thing to say after your first kiss with someone, but all Dean could do was nod. Castiel stepped away finally, and Dean let out a dramatic breath that he had no idea how long he'd been holding, almost as if Castiel's gaze had held him in more ways than one.

Castiel walked over to the desk and picked up Spock, tucking the black cat into the crook of his arm and cradling his head, rubbing behind his ear with a thumb. The cat purred loudly, his yellow eyes sliding closed with the contact.

“He's welcome here anytime,” Castiel said softly as he handed Spock over to Dean, “so are you.”

Dean took the ball of fluff, already feeling his nose tingling. “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel just nodded, giving him one last lingering look before turning back to his desk and sitting down. He was once again hunched over the desk and scribbling madly before Dean even left the room.

********

“Heya, Spocky!” Charlie exclaimed, picking the bored cat up from Dean's chair and cuddling him obnoxiously to her chest. “I missed you so much! Was he a good boy?”

“He was fine.” Dean sniffed, rubbing his nose with a wadded up piece of tissue.

“Actually, I was talking to Spock.”

“Ha ha ha...bite me.”

Charlie trilled a laugh and buried her face in the fur on the top of the cat's head before giving him a kiss and sitting him down on the floor, where he promptly ran off down the hall.

“I hope he wasn't too much trouble. You don't know how much I appreciate this. Boarding is just so expensive.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. He was fine, really.” He shuffled nervously. “Well he...he did get out...one night.”

“What?!”

“Yeah but hey, look, he's fine. It was an accident. He got past me when I opened the door for some Trick-or-Treaters. Ended up in that creepy house down the road.”

“Yeesh. The old Novak house? That place gives me the heebie jeebies.” Charlie shuddered.

Dean shrugged. “Eh. S'not so bad. A little beat up, maybe. But Cas seems nice enough, if not a little...odd.”

“Cas?” Charlie cocked her head to the side. The action gave Dean a brief flashback to Castiel doing the same thing, and he smiled.

“Yeah. Stupid cat went right up into his house. I went in there after him and found him sitting with Cas at his desk. But anyway. He's a...” Dean tried to think of a way to describe him without giving Charlie any ideas. The last thing he needed was her ribbing him for his crush. “He's a nice guy.”

Charlie didn't notice, instead giving him a strange look. “Dean...that house has been vacant for years.”

He shrugged again. “Well, obviously not anymore.”

“Huh. Maybe.” She didn't look convinced. “Shame what happened to Mr. Novak, though.”

“Something...happened? I just assumed the guy moved away. No one's been in there as long as I've lived here, I don't think. Until Cas, that is.”

Charlie shook her head. “No...James Novak lived there...five years ago? Six? I don't know. He was a writer. _Major_ recluse.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Died suddenly too, some kind of heart problem. Hold on, maybe I can find something about it online.” She plopped down on the couch and pulled out her phone. “I can't believe you never knew any of this. Jesus, Dean, when you move into a neighborhood you're supposed to actually...you know...move in.”

Dean scoffed as he sat down beside her. “Well, if the guy was a recluse then it's not all that strange that I never knew he lived there.”

Charlie hummed, scrolling through her phone. “Yes! Here we go: James C. Novak was a romance writer who lived in Lawrence, Kansas. He passed away at age 41 from complications from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. A progressive heart disease,” she clarified when Dean looked at her questioningly. “He was working on his first full-length novel titled _The Eyes That Haunt Me_ at the time of his death, about unrequited love between the narrator and a character the narrator had never met. Aw, that's sweet.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow, remembering the conversation he had with Castiel about agape. That kind of sounded a lot like unrequited love, in a way.

Charlie scrolled some more. _“If I could have taken the precious moments I spent in love with his smile, his laugh, his mossy green eyes, and rolled them into one, it could not have been more perfect than the feel of his lips pressed to mine, the physical current grounding us in place, every moment I'd lived until then falling to background noise around me and there was only us...and there would only ever be us.”_

“That's...kind of beautiful.”

Charlie sighed. “Yeah. Yeah it is. It was an excerpt from that book. Ooh, and _hello_! Mr. James Novak wasn't too hard on the eyes either!”

Dean laughed. “What would you know, you gay nerd-”

Dean snapped his mouth closed when Charlie turned the phone to him. The man smiling shyly from the screen had messy dark hair that looked like there was a mere attempt to tame, dark circles under his eyes, pink lips against surprisingly clean-shaven skin, and eyes bluer than they had any right to be.

It was Castiel.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the Halloween collaboration challenge for All Things Destiel & Cockles. 
> 
> My artist for this piece is pherryt. 
> 
> Work is unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> I borrowed the name of Castiel's book from a DeadlyKittenKay's fic, which is wonderful! Please check it out: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11534796/chapters/25896570


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